30 Ways in 30 Days
by AristaHolmes
Summary: Atlin Merrick's Challenge!: Come up with unique ways John and Sherlock can have sex.That was my prompt to seven writer friends... And here are my FOUR contributions to this challenge...
1. Planned

**A/N: AtlinMerrick challenged 7 of her writing friends to write 30 ways Sherlock and John could have Sex in 30 Days. These are my four contributions to this wonderful idea, and if you would like to read all 30 way's, please go to this link {also found in my profile)...**

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**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Sherlock. If I owned Sherlock, and by default Benedict Cumberbatch, I would not be in my bedroom writing fan fiction. I would be in my bedroom doing other, more interesting things.**  
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**Planned – 500 words**

John shook his head grinning and leant against a rotting beam that looked like it used to support the main structure of the building, but the light chuckle stopped when Sherlock turned and fixed him with a heated look.

"I was thinking that I'd like to fuck you right here..." that velvet voice purred, and John felt a shiver travel down his spine as his lover prowled towards him, pressing him into the support and kissing him till they were both panting with little to no chance of catching their breath.

Sherlock let his fingers trail along John's belt, under his jacket and kept his voice deep low, his hands slipped inside John's trousers, the belt somehow undone and Sherlock's mouth trailed along Johns jawbone nibbling at his ear.

"Somewhere dark, and filthy, somewhere no one will dare come looking for us..."

"Christ-!" John's fingers clenched around Sherlock's hips, but the detective kept the small space between them, tormenting his lover, and himself.

Sherlock bit hard on John's neck lapping at it tenderly once he'd drawn a sharp gasp and bucking hips from his lover

"As long as you don't scream..."

John groaned low in his throat, and finally put enough strength into his arms to bring Sherlock's hips crashing into his own, pulling his own pleased groan from the taller man

"You planned this," John partially complained, "You even bothering with the case?"

Shifting and grinding against Johns hips Sherlock dropped his head until their foreheads touched, and their heavy breaths mingled in the space between them

"Solved it, Mycroft's handling-"

He'd somehow failed to notice what John had been up to until sure strong hands unzipped Sherlock's trousers, and the cold night air crept around them, another deep kiss, and Sherlock's long fingers hitched Johns leg round his hip, pulling him free of the trousers bunched around his ankles was all it took for conversation to cease.

Johns hand snaked upwards, and gripped hold of a bracket still attached to the beam, and used it to hoist himself up, wrapping his legs around Sherlock's hips, and freeing Sherlock's hands to caress skin, licking and nipping until John was writhing and completely focussed on the mouth tormenting his chest.

Lube slicked fingers pressing firmly into his ass had the Doctor shuddering, and he relaxed his arm, lowering onto Sherlock's fingers, and effectively fucking himself. His legs tensing around Sherlock's hips brought swearing forth in that velvet voice and on John's next downward movement Sherlock replaced fingers with his cock, the gasps and mewling coming from deep in John's throat were enough to have Sherlock clawing at the precipice of an orgasm waiting to shatter you; the hot tightness of his lover, shifting, lifting around him dragged sounds from him he didn't want to admit to.

It took minutes, light brushing of John's prostate to have the doctor coming over both of them, pulling Sherlock into oblivion with him and neither heard themselves shouting through the bliss cloaking their minds.


	2. Helping Hand

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Sherlock. If I owned Sherlock, and by default Benedict Cumberbatch, I would not be in my bedroom writing fan fiction. I would be in my bedroom doing other, more interesting things.**  
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**Helping Hand – 250 words**

"But she's needs help!" John announced, and Sherlock growled

"No way, she can't stay here!"

"Why not!"

"Do you really want an answer to that?" the detective scoffed, and he saw John's eyes darken with anger, and paced towards the man. Kissing him hard, pushing him into the sofa, straddling his lap before John could fight back... there was nothing tender in their motions, every action a battle for dominance.

John's fingers were tight on Sherlock's hips as though he might push the man onto the floor, but Sherlock's fingers were just as tight, one gripping the left shoulder, the other gripped a handful of hair, angling John's head and kissing roughly.

As soon as John groaned, and surrendered, letting his hands slide up Sherlock's body instead of gripping, the consulting detective let John's hair slide through his fingers, and he delved into his lovers trousers, finding the man already hard.

A pillow fell, rubbing Johns cheek and the shifting kept the thing batting at his face, so John simply grabbed it to keep it still, and groaned loudly into Sherlock's mouth when long fingers wrapped around his length, dragging along him in quick motions that had John writhing beneath his lover, crying loudly.

Once he came back to himself, and he could think, the only thought that passed through his mind was that Sherlock was right. He stared at the 'pillow' he held and watched the kitten begin licking his knuckles.

There's no way she could stay; Sherlock smirked.


	3. I Scream, You Scream

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Sherlock. If I owned Sherlock, and by default Benedict Cumberbatch, I would not be in my bedroom writing fan fiction. I would be in my bedroom doing other, more interesting things.

**I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For Ice-Cream – 300 words**

Sherlock gasped and his slightly concave stomach twitched, drawing a frown from the doctor hovering above him.

"Hold still, Sherlock!" John murmured, concentrating on administering everything correctly. The detective groaned, but couldn't speak and risk crushing the cherry he was holding between his teeth. John knew him too well and had bound his hands to the bed with the belt from his silk dressing gown.

The ice-cream the doctor had just placed on Sherlock's stomach drew shivers, but John was determined, encircling the scoop with spray-cream to stop it melting onto the bed, and drizzling chocolate sauce over the top, swirling some round Sherlock's nipples, before dropping everything to the floor and slowly swirling his tongue round the tip of the detective's heavy, weeping cock, and watching the man draw a shuddering breath, tugging at his restraints. John was already balls deep in Sherlock's ass and when he shifted his hips, rocking slowly, and supplying the detective with small tremors of sensation; He couldn't stop a loud groan in response to his lovers weak yet desperate whines around that bright red cherry.

John kept up the slow teasing torture, and leant over Sherlock, careful not to damage the ice-cream on his stomach, and took his time, decadently sucking sauce from Sherlock's nipples, only stopping once they were clean, red and hard, and Sherlock's writhing became intense enough to be utterly distracting.

John suddenly withdrew almost fully, and snapped his hips forward without warning, dragging a growl from Sherlock as his teeth clenched in pleasure, staining his lips with cherry juice, that John proceeded to suck away, even as his hips snapped forward again, and his hand began working it's way along Sherlock's length; with the cherry gone, Sherlock's volume increased until John received the final ingredient for his ice-cream sundae.


	4. Don't Ever Get To Thinking

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Sherlock. If I owned Sherlock, and by default Benedict Cumberbatch, I would not be in my bedroom writing fan fiction. I would be in my bedroom doing other, more interesting things.**  
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**Don't Ever Get To Thinking You're Replaceable – 499 words**

Sherlock was already suspicious the moment he opened the door to 221B. The flat was spotless, cleaned, the information he'd asked John to find was neatly laid on the kitchen table, and Sherlock knew John was absolutely furious about something. The problem was, Sherlock, consulting detective, didn't have a clue what that 'something' might be.  
>It wasn't difficult to work out, however, when he suddenly got pinned against the kitchen door by an ex-arm Captain, and growled at in a voice that screamed of jealousy<br>"Have fun running interview's, Sherlock?"  
>"John, you-"<br>"You send me off to find, useless pieces of paper, but you were already all over her by the time I got to the cab!"  
>Just like that, Sherlock was as angry as John, at the lack of trust, at the stupidity his lover was showing, and he attempted to shove the man off him, only to find his wrist held firmly as he thrown unceremoniously into the kitchen table, sprawling across it and finding John's solid, comforting weight, pressing him into the table.<br>"You let her ki-iss you" John's voice broke, even as it lost it's venom and Sherlock realised exactly what was bothering the man, but it only flamed his anger  
>"Of course, I did!" he pushed off the table, throwing John back and spinning to pin John to the wall, "I was playing a part you imbecile!"<br>John threw a punch, but Sherlock was expecting it, and spun them round, slamming his lover into the kitchen cabinets, and slamming his lips to John's, determined to make John see just how ridiculous he was being. Teeth were used, and they both tasted blood, and suddenly there was desperation threaded through their motions.  
>Neither became gentle, and every movement was a battle, vicious, nails and teeth and pinching fingers and fistfuls of hair. Clothes were torn apart and ripped from bodies, and Sherlock lifted John onto the counter, stepping between the man's legs before John could aim an accurate kick.<br>Even as their bodies and mouths battled, Sherlock was using oil to prepare, and slid swiftly into John, and they both stilled for a heart beat, maybe longer, their furious panting the only sounds. Attacking became clinging, and the nails John had dug into Sherlock's back dragged down, raising red welt along alabaster skin and forcing Sherlock to arch his back, and hiss deliciously.  
>They both began moving, just as frantically as before, almost viciously fucking, and yet still loving in equal measure.<br>"You know what my job entails..."  
>"I warned you I was jealous..."<br>"I needed answers, it meant nothing..."  
>"You didn't even wait, it hurt..."<br>Their growled and hissed conversation, drew tears, and more blood, but eventually John let loose and sharp whimper of pleasured pain, and bit Sherlock's long neck hard, bruising the skin, drawing blood, and dragging a powerful shuddering orgasm from his partner.  
>"I'm yours, Sherlock" John promised, whispered, once he'd smoothed the wound with his tongue, "and you're mine".<p> 


End file.
